


It's Been So Long (Since I Have Seen You)

by Kawaiibooker



Series: V one-shot [4]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: A coda to the birthday cutscene, Birthday Headcanons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, I tried to fluff I really did..., Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Mental Health Issues, Post-TPP, Pre-Slash, The usual V tags, Venom Headcanon, Yup you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6938446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Venom Snake's birthday, 1984 and 1985.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Been So Long (Since I Have Seen You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twofacedbatman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofacedbatman/gifts).



> Unbetaed.
> 
> V series setting between [Learning to Stand (On Our Own Two Feet)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5443106/chapters/12579500) and [Let Our Shadows Fall Away (Like Dust)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5629042/chapters/12966085).
> 
> Happy late birthday, Sydney!! This is for being a great friend and for the constant support and motivation you send my way. I hope you like c:

[1984]

“Any updates?“

Big Boss’s voice is lowered to a rasp, just loud enough to be heard over the chopper’s engine. Like before the answer is a headshake and a somber “Negative, sir“ from Pequod - and again, it makes him scoff as he paces the limited space available to him.

Three steps up, three steps down. Repeat.

The question _why_ there hasn’t been a word from Kaz ever since that first emergency transmission remains. No matter the gravity of the situation, his X.O. always managed to keep him in the loop; he’s never come back to base this uninformed and it’s slowly driving him insane. _What if_ , he can’t help but think, _what if they’re under attack? If the radio is jammed?_ Snake looks out the window. The far horizon is a hazy line between the ocean and the sky and it’s still frustratingly _empty_ , miles and miles of the endless sea ahead of them until the silhouette of Outer Heaven will appear and he’ll _know_. He’ll see if there’s pillars of smoke or surrounding enemy forces, if the platforms are there at all and– _What if–_

“Boss?”

His head snaps up. He watches Pequod’s throat work through a nervous swallow for an agonizing second, then: “I’m sure it’s nothing–“ and it’s neither new information nor an explanation and entirely not what he wants to hear, just a meaningless platitude he can’t do anything with and it must show on his face because Pequod backs off with a show of raised hands.

The Boss doesn’t realize he’s clenching his fists by now, doesn’t recognize his own voice when he growls out: “An emergency, he said. That’s not _nothing_ ” – it’s the sliver of fear in Pequod’s eyes that makes Snake break the intense gaze he’s pinning him with and take a deep breath, eventually sitting down on the very edge of the seat.

“Just... Bring us home.”

He rubs his face and exhales slowly, trying to calm his racing thoughts into something more manageable. _Maybe he forgot to call off the alarm... Maybe..._

The next hour is the longest one yet.

*

His first instinct upon hearing the music is to seek cover, scout out where it’s coming from and silence it before it attracts any attention – the world narrows to a point beyond the muzzle of his tranq gun, thoughts streamlined to utmost efficiency, mapping out the route first to better equipment, then to the safety bunkers to see if anyone is left. Anyone at all.

The melody itself doesn’t register until a very familiar voice starts singing to it and by the time the others join in, walking around the corner towards him, Snake’s between shooting their smug faces off and gathering them in a group hug out of sheer relief. Under the cries of “Happy Birthday, Boss!” and cheery laughter, he now recognizes the booming noise of fireworks, not of bullets raining down on him. The Boss finds himself automatically mirroring the wide smiles of the recruits, Ocelot and even Kaz – despite the way his heart pumps painfully in his chest, the now-useless adrenaline leaving him faint and jittery.

It takes Snake a second to straighten up from his crouching position and holster his gun, his trembling hand refusing to cooperate properly. He looks up in time to see Kaz’s eyes following the motion behind his aviators; they snap up to meet his. Snake doesn’t know what Kaz reads in his expression but it makes that rare smile dim considerably and _that’s not how this is supposed to go._

But then there's a cigar in his hand, expectant looks all around waiting for his verdict on it and although he can objectively say it's good – Cuban, just like back in the day – taking the first drag doesn't feel as satisfying to him as he remembers it. Snake smokes the cigar without really tasting it, downs the whiskey that's handed to him later in the evening - also of good quality, also a remnant of the past - and lets nothing of the unpleasant burn down his throat show on his face.

Kaz's eyes linger on him with the same subtle worry every time their paths cross that night, an unspoken question hidden behind a casual brush of hands, a fleeting touch to his shoulder. It only heightens the feeling that something's wrong with him... That nothing’s really _connecting_ with him on a deeper level, down to the date written on the cake – 26 th July – and it leaves Snake unsettled, uncomfortable in his own skin.

Big Boss leaves the party held in his honor the moment it's deemed polite enough to do so. He ignores the knock on his door not thirty minutes later, lets the seconds tick by without moving from his perch on the bed except to take the next drag of his electric cigar, his eye fixed on the shadow under the door.

The sound of Kaz's defeated sigh and his uneven steps walking away follows him into his dreams that night, dreams of Mother Base burning down in front of him, his hands covered in blood that's not his but–

***

[1985]

Kaz waits for the machine to spit out the last drops of coffee into the pot, not quite ready to sit down and start working yet. He yawns, tapping away at the counter – a single piercing beep indicates the job is done and he pours himself his first cup of the day, lips twitching at the “I ♥ DD“ print on it.

He’s about to turn around when he catches sight of the calendar on the wall, still on the past month. Kaz has to set down the mug to flip the page over, rolling his eyes as yet another black-and-white picture of a train is revealed under the bolded _September_. The miniscule smile on his lips widens a fraction. That’s what he gets for telling Snake about his secret passion for steam-powered engines – the man has an uncanny ability of remembering insignificant details like that, one he tends to use for weirdly thoughtful gifts. One careless comment and, lo and behold, there’s a train-themed present placed neatly on his desk, months later and in time for Christmas. He’d been surprised they’re even celebrating it at all – even more so when, just a few days later, Snake came by his office with _another_ present and a few cans of beer to share... until he checked the date and scoffed at himself for forgetting his own birthday when Venom clearly had not. It’s always been like that, even before–

Kaz sobers considerably at the thought. A glance at the clock tells him today’s therapy session is still under way, set early enough to allow Venom some rest before he has to get back to work. It’s helping, slowly but surely, and yet it doesn’t seem to be enough to fix the lapses in memory nor the brutal headaches that seem to come and go unpredictably, no discernable pattern to the triggers – or at least none that Venom talks about. If there’s one thing Kaz learned in the past few weeks, it’s how to distinguish a good day from a bad one by the few tells Snake lets slip past his guard. He’s vaguely hopeful that the former are starting to outweigh the latter, finally.

The sound of the coffee machine cooling down – a sequence of dull clicks, irregular enough to be annoying – reminds him he’s been staring into empty space for the better part of five minutes. Kaz sighs and takes the first sip of his coffee before he resigns himself to his desk for the next few hours.

*

He’s forgetting something. It knocks on the back of Kaz's mind, an important detail lingering at the brink of his memory, right _there_ , he just can’t put his finger on it. It’s easily ignored at first, pushed aside between one task and the next but he catches himself staring out the window every few minutes, thoughts circling around that one irritatingly blank point.

It takes writing out the current date for the dozenth time for it to finally _click_ – his mind jumps more than a decade back, to the fond smile of one particular medic when Kaz announced to him the monthly birthday party will fall on the 4 th and he’d replied, “You’re not supposed to play favorites, Commander.”

Of course, Kaz had shrugged the playful accusation off with some excuse or other. He didn’t bother to hide his smug grin, though, knowing the warmth in Medic’s voice and the teasing underdone was reserved for him only. If the shared birthday cake turned out to be Vincente’s favorite, then that, too, was purely coincidental.

His pen hovers over _September 4 th_ in the corner of the page and _oh, shit._

*

“Come on in. I gotta show you something.”

Venom blinks in obvious surprise before he takes the offered hand, pulling himself into the chopper. Kaz can tell he doesn’t put his full weight behind it but decides to swallow his instinctive remark on that. The relaxed set of Snake's lips as he nods a greeting at Pequod, the bump of their shoulders as he settles into the backseat beside Kaz – all signs of a good day, something he was hoping for when he scrambled to make preparations for their spontaneous outing. He doesn’t want to ruin it.

Snake doesn’t ask where they’re headed outright, just looks at him with an alert glint in his eye and tilts his head in a way strikingly similar to DD. Kaz snorts, reaching over to pat his knee. “Patience, V. It’s a surprise.”

The other frowns, sitting back with a huff. “Good or bad?”

 _Why would it be–?_ The question is on the tip of his tongue when he remembers the last time they gave him a surprise, just over a year ago. Kaz still doesn’t know what got into him to think it was a good idea to scare him like that, the old guilt bubbling up at the thought of the wide-eyed fear on his face–

He shakes it off. The past can wait for tomorrow. Things are different now.

“Good. It involves food.” He nudges the covered basket tucked into the corner for emphasis, chuckling when Venom’s attention snaps to the promise of food. “ _Patience._ We’re almost there.”

Down below, the Animal Conservation Platform comes into view, a vibrant green beacon in the dark blue of the ocean surrounding it.

*

Kaz chooses the enclosure for the goats with little hesitation, carefully side-stepping the curious animals and pointing at a spot under the big tree planted there to provide some shade from the unforgiving midday sun. Snake sets down the basket, his questioning gaze following Kaz the entire time it takes to set up the picnic, readily helping out with anything he can’t do himself.

The fabric that was covering the basket folds out to a blanket big enough for two, the red plaid too cheesy for Kaz’s taste but it’s the only one he could find on such short notice. Next comes the food – carefully piled away from Snake’s sticky fingers with a warning look – until finally he settles down, patting the spot to his left.

Only once Venom is sitting comfortably, his knee brushing Kaz’s in his cross-legged position, does Kaz reach into the basket to take out the last item: A bottle of Cacique rum. “I gotta admit this is all last-minute but”, he holds it out to him with a proud smile, “I still had this stashed away, luckily enough.”

Again, Snake’s response is a slow blink, taking the gift with a quiet clinking of metal digits against glass. “Uh, thanks?” He studies the label with a furrowed brow, squinting his eye at the Spanish description. The lack of recognition is disheartening, but Kaz tells himself he just needs more time. “Kaz, what is all this?”

“Well... Today’s September 4th.”

“...Yeah, so?”

“It’s...” He tries to keep the cheer in his voice despite the unchanging confusion on Snake’s face, despite the sickening realization that _he doesn’t remember at all._ Kaz gives up on his faint hope with a sigh, tilting his head to catch the other’s gaze over the rim of his sunglasses evenly. “V, it’s your birthday. September 4 th 1932\. You’re 53 as of today.”

“Oh” is all Venom says, breaking eye contact to look at the bottle still in his hands. Then, after an utterly motionless moment, he sets it aside to rub at his face, dragging his fingers with visible force down his scarred skin to bury them in his beard.

“Sorry, I–“ Kaz interrupts himself with a wince, doesn’t quite know what he’s apologizing for but _somebody has to_. There’s nothing _fair_ about the flash of pain he sees in that blue eye before it closes tightly, Snake curling in on himself just a fraction and it _hurts_ to see such a strong man bowing to the suffocating weight placed on his shoulders.

Yet, after a few deep breaths, Venom recovers – faster than he used to, a distant part of Kaz notices. “Okay.” His tone is firm, even if his voice is not. He clears his throat.

Kaz puts his hand on his knee, his thumb rubbing small circles into his lower thigh now that the worst is over. “Yeah?”

Snake drops his hands in his lap, nodding once, then again with more force. “Okay, yeah. September 4th. 53. Got it.”

The tight expression on his face remains. Kaz opens his mouth before his brain catches up to what he wants to say, the only thought in his head is to make it better, somehow: “Don’t worry, you don’t look your age– Uh...” Kaz stumbles over his own words, kicking himself mentally. What is he thinking, reminding Venom of his looks _now_ –

A low chuckle makes his eyes snap up to meet Snake’s. The pain is gone, or maybe pushed aside, Kaz can’t tell, too distracted by the familiar warmth it’s replaced with. His heart clenches at the sight of the unshed tears there, too. “Thanks, Kaz. For remembering and”, Venom reaches for the rum again, gestures vaguely with it, “for all this.”

This time Kaz thinks before he speaks, trying to hide the way his voice is affected, too: “Of course." _I'm glad you're still alive._  "I'm glad to be able to celebrate it again, after..." He trails off, trying to find the words he needs–

Snake seems to sense his predicament, interrupting him gently with a wave of the bottle in his hands. “So, what’s the story?”

“Oh, it’s stupid, really.” Kaz clears his throat, his embarrassment turning to worry. “V... Are you sure? I can tell you some other time-”

“No, no, I... want to know.” He sighs, opening the cap with his flesh hand. He takes the first careful sip, considering the taste before he hums, downing another mouthful. “I have to face myself eventually. Why not get drunk while we’re at it?”

They both know that’s not the best way to deal with any kind of situation, much less one that involves repressed memories – yet, Kaz shrugs. “Sure, why not?” The bottle wanders into Kaz’s hand and he drinks, the sweet flavor combining with the typical alcohol taste just like he remembers it.

Then, Kaz starts to talk.

**Author's Note:**

> The first part refers to [this scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=McwAvh6kupI) from TPP.
> 
> Anyways, yeah, birthdays. Kazoo's birthday is btw on 30th December 1946. Poor guy always gets forgotten in-between Xmas and New Year's. Not by V, tho :3c


End file.
